But simple manners rarely range Beyond the simpler ages' ken: And e'en the Virtues sometimes change Their vesture and their looks, like men. Pride, noble once, grows close and vain, And Honour stoops to vulgar things, And old Obedience slacks the rein, And murmurs at the rule of kings. IV. So Freedom, like her sisters too, Has felt the impulse of the time, Has changed her garments' blameless hue, And donn'd the colours dear to crime First in a Phrygian cap she stalked, And bore within her grasp the spear; And ever, when abroad she walk'd, Men knew Revenge was following near. V. She moves again--The death-drums roll, The frantic mobs their chorus raise, The thunder of the Carmagnole-- The war-chant of the Marseillaise' Red run the streets with blameless blood-- The guillotine comes clanking down-- And Freedom, in her drunken mood, Can witness all without a frown. VI. Times change again: and Freedom now, Though scarcely yet less wild and frantic, Appears, before men's eyes below, In guises more intensely antic. No single kind of garb she wears, As o'er the earth she goes crusading; But shifts her habit and her airs Like Joe Grimaldi masquerading. VII. Through Paris you may see her tread, The cynosure of all beholders; A _bonnet rouge_ upon her head, A ragged blouse upon her shoulders. More decent now than once she was, Though equally opposed to riches, She still upholds the good old cause, Yet condescends to wear the breeches. VIII. The Huns behold her as of yore, With grisly beard and monstrous swagger; The swart Italian bows before The Goddess with the mask and dagger. The German, as his patriot thirst With beer Bavarian he assuages, Surveys her image, as at first 'Twas pictured in the Middle Ages. IX. Her glorious form appears to him In all its pristine pomp and glitter, Equipped complete from head to heel, In semblance of a stalwart Ritter. With doublet slash, and fierce moustache, And wrinkled boots of russet leather, And hose and belt, with hat of felt Surmounted by a capon's feather. X. Mysterious as Egyptian Sphinx, A perfect riddle--who can solve her? One while she comes with blazing links, The next, she's armed with a revolver. Across the main, whene'er the shoe Upon her radiant instep pinches, To-day, she'll tar and feather you; To-morrow, and she merely Lynches. XI.